


Relative Recognition

by HaMandCheezIts



Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Charlie Brown TV Specials, Family Feels, Florida, Gen, Holidays, McDonald's, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mental Anguish, Missing Persons, POV First Person, Peanuts Comic Strip, Post-Canon, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Siblings, Road Trips, Sibling Bonding, Summer Vacation, Thanksgiving, Yellowstone National Park, airplane travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaMandCheezIts/pseuds/HaMandCheezIts
Summary: Marty thought he was handling his adjustment to his new 1985. He really did. And then he momentarily forgot who he was now living with.NOTE:I changed the publication date on this to November 26th, as it's kind of a Thanksgiving story. At least, the "present-day" part of the story takes place on Thanksgiving Wednesday.
Relationships: Dave McFly & Marty McFly, Emmett "Doc" Brown & Marty McFly, Linda McFly & Marty McFly
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Relative Recognition

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about how I would feel (and will feel, at some point hopefully _far_ into the future) when one of my close family members dies, and then all of the inside jokes and personal memories that I had connected to that person will just be . . . gone. No one else will understand, or react the same way. Okay, maybe I've been a little depressed and stressed-out lately with Covid (I lay awake at night worrying), but I imagine that Marty must've felt a similar loss when his original family, the one he knew his entire life, was suddenly replaced by "improved" look-a-likes.
> 
> (There's a little bad language in this, just so no one is surprised.)
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Back to the Future,_ Marty McFly (or any of the McFly family members), Doctor Emmett L. Brown, or any other related characters.
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.
> 
> -ck

**Wednesday, November 27th, 1985**

**8:20 P.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

I’d thought I had things handled with my “better” 1985. Well, mostly handled. Sure, there had been close calls, like when Mom had dug out the album with the supposed [picture from ‘55 of “Marty Brown.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415727) Thankfully, by some random chance (or supernatural intervention – if I ever see Doc again, I’ll have to ask him about that) my image in the photograph had been obscured, so there was no obvious evidence of my presence in 1955.

As for handling things. . . It had been a hard tightrope to walk, but I’d thought I’d kept my balance. My early inclination was to hide in my room, as it was the only recognizable place in a foreign land. . . Like when you’re traveling in Europe, and you’re homesick and tired of the language you can’t understand and the food you can’t tolerate, and suddenly you come across a McDonald’s? You know, kind of like that. But you can’t stay in the McDonald’s forever. You have to get out among the people and the places and the buildings full of art and you have to immerse yourself in it, so you _learn._ Yeah, maybe the McDonald’s is a good place to take a break, but hiding there doesn’t fix anything.

But to continue with the McDonald’s analogy: another thing you might notice about a European McDonald’s is that they have strange things on the menu, like beer ( _beer_ in a McDonald’s!), and the sandwiches have different names and are usually smaller. So you think it’s familiar, but when you get inside you see all the changes. When Doc had dropped me off that first night, before he’d grabbed me and Jenn the next morning and had taken us to 2015, I’d climbed through my bedroom window and collapsed in my bed, completely secure in what I’d believed was my ordinary, unaltered room. Even after all of the additional time travel (to 2015, 1985A, back to 1955, and to 1885), when I'd finally returned to the present I still hadn’t noticed anything unusual about my room. Until I'd started to really _look_. I'd found I had a copy of a book of science fiction short stories, which contained one of my dad’s first published works, “Whether the Weather.” It was a story about some reclusive scientist who had learned how to control the weather. When people found out about it, they started to pay him tons of money or do crazy favors for him, so he would provide nice weather for weddings and holidays. But then other people wanted snow for Christmas and rain for their crops, and all of the peoples' disagreements ultimately led to fighting and riots. The scientist felt responsible for all of the fighting (and eventual killing), and at the end of the story he’d gone mad. The tale was eerie and the description of the scientist was a little too close to Doc for my liking – but the story was actually _good._ I wasn’t surprised at all that my "improved" dad had gotten it published.

It had sort of made sense that I’d have that book, when I hadn’t before – the book had probably existed _somewhere,_ but since it wouldn't have had Dad’s story in it, there wouldn't have been any reason for me to own a copy. What hadn’t made sense – at least at first – was why I had a course catalog for Hill Valley University on my headboard shelf. Why the clothes in my drawers were folded up like you’d see in an expensive clothing store. Why I had an autographed album cover of Van Halen’s _1984,_ framed and hanging up near my closet door. It was my album, I’d recognized the slight crease in the bottom of the cardboard sleeve, right underneath the cherub’s cigarette. But how in the hell had I gotten the autograph _'Marty - Keep on Rocking! - Eddie'_?

I'd learned later that the HVU catalog was from Dave, his way of encouraging me to apply to the same college that he’d recently graduated from (with honors, even!). The professionally folded clothes were Linda’s hallmark – now that she was working in a boutique and going to school for fashion design, she was all about clothes and treating them properly and looking your best and all that junk. She was even laundering everyone’s clothes now, having happily taken that chore off of my mother’s hands. My wardrobe had never looked less wrinkled.

The autographed album cover was the most surprising. Evidently my dad and I had gone to see Van Halen in concert in San Diego – guests of my Uncle Joey, who was a light technician at the sports arena where the band had performed. Joey had apparently never been incarcerated in this timeline (and I have _no_ idea how my time travel had fixed that). My uncle had gotten us backstage, and I'd been able to meet Eddie Van Halen. I as yet had no memory of that event, and that was achingly unfair.

Still, my room was mostly as I remembered it, and when my “new” timeline just got to be too much, I could hide in its familiar confines. Only that didn’t help me learn about the differences in my family and my life, so I had to force myself out into the open. I would sit in the elegant new living room or dining room or at the fancy patio table in the backyard, and I’d listen to the stories and remarks and recollections and I’d hang on every word. I’d try to contribute, and sometimes I’d almost kind of remember what everyone was talking about. It was weird – there were times when I’d have a fleeting memory I was sure I hadn't had before, like a shadow playing on the edge of my thoughts. But most of the time I had no clue, and I’d be lost. And those times, the lack of memories was like an empty spot in your mouth, a place where you’d had a tooth pulled – your tongue goes back to that spot, knowing that a tooth used to be there, but all it encounters is a gap in your gums.

But I'd really thought I’d had things together. That I was managing. And then I had to frickin’ shoot myself in the foot.

It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I was in the living room with Dave and Linda. We were watching _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving_ , which we had done every year that I could remember, and I was eminently glad that that hadn't changed. Dad was in his study, clacking away at his typewriter, and Mom was in the kitchen, finishing her Thanksgiving-eve preparations – our family was hosting this year, and having few memories of the whole family gathering at our house for a holiday, I was actually looking forward to it. I figured there’d be so many people around that my scattered recollections would go unnoticed, or maybe the total immersion would kick some more of this timeline’s memories to the surface. Picking up French by hanging out with the natives.

I was on the floor, leaning against the couch, snuggled under a light blanket. Linda and Dave were on the couch, Dave with his long legs stretched out near me, and Linda sitting cross-legged with a pillow on her lap. It was comfy and normal and I kind of forgot that this was not quite the same Dave and Linda I had grown up with. When there was a commercial break, Linda uncurled a foot, using it to nudge me on the shoulder. “How do you rate, getting the blanket?” she grumbled mildly.

My response was immediate and impulsive.

“You want the fucking blanket? Take the fucking blanket! Give me the fucking pillow!”

I expected Linda to smack me with the pillow. I expected Dave and Linda to guffaw at the running joke. I didn’t expect the stunned silence, the way they both stared at me in disbelief at my unnecessary and uncalled-for language. Initially my face heated up in embarrassment, and then paled as I realized my mistake.

This Dave and Linda had never gone on a road-trip vacation to Yellowstone National Park with our parents in June of ‘81 (and this timeline’s Marty hadn’t, either). No, in this timeline, that year’s vacation had been to Florida, by plane. So my siblings weren't aware of the time when my mother, complaining of a headache, had let a recently-graduated Dave replace her as my father’s navigator. Mom had retired to the backseat with me and Linda, and had curled up under a car blanket, attempting to sleep. She had been dozing when Linda had complained that she was cold and wanted the blanket. My mother, irritated and tired of traveling and just wanting to sleep, had exploded at Linda: “You want the fucking blanket, take the fucking blanket!” It had been so surprising and so out-of-character for my mother that the entire car had soon been rocking with laughter. The remark had become family legend, and was often repeated, although never in mixed company.

Well, it had become legend in my “old” family. This family, not so much.

“What the hell, Marty?” Dave asked, scandalized. “What is wrong with you?”

“It’s – I just remember – “ Unable to explain, I struggled to my feet, kicking the blanket aside. “Sorry,” I mumbled, then retreated to my room. I was just glad my parents hadn’t heard my gaffe. I hoped Dave and Linda would be too shocked to repeat it. I flopped on my bed, buried my head in my pillows, and tried not to cry. I was only moderately successful.

It was maybe five minutes later when I heard a soft knocking at my bedroom door. I picked my head up fractionally. “Yeah?”

It was Linda. “Marty? Can I come in?”

I twisted on the bed, sitting up. “Yeah.”

She peeked through the door at me, then opened it the rest of the way. Standing in the doorway, she looked at me critically. “You okay?”

I shrugged.

Linda moved forward, sat herself next to me on the bed, and then unexpectedly reached out and hugged me. I sat rigidly in her embrace, unsure what it meant or how I was supposed to react.

“That was some inside joke between you and Doc Brown, wasn’t it?” she said. She leaned back to study me, a sympathetic frown on her face.

 _Jesus. A way out._ And it wasn’t even that far-fetched. My whole family knew that Doc and I had had our own way of communicating, casual and irreverent; that had been consistent in any time I’d been with Doc – past, present, or future. In fact, in my “original” family, my mother had often chastised me for my foul language, usually blaming Doc’s influence.

I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I nodded silently to Linda’s question.

She embraced me again, her arms tight around me. “We know you miss him, and that you’re having a hard time, especially with the holidays.”

It _was_ hard. I really did miss Doc. I remembered how he would decorate his garage/house for Thanksgiving, even putting a special placemat under Einie’s dish. I was also missing my “old” family, the ones who sat around the table at Thanksgiving and ate dry turkey and lumpy mashed potatoes and watery green bean casserole and scalded pumpkin pie. And then laughed and joked and remembered past Thanksgivings where we’d done the exact same thing.

I started crying again. It wasn’t just Doc who was gone. They were all gone. It was like everyone in my family had died, and been replaced with imposters. _Nice_ imposters, but still.

I don’t know when Dave showed up, but suddenly he was on the other side of the bed, and he had his arms around both of us. “I’m sorry, Marty,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know. Linda yelled at me after you left.”

I chuckled through my tears. “’sokay, Dave.”

Dave lowered his arms, pulling away, and Linda followed suit. I rubbed at my eyes, smiling at them hesitantly. “I’m sorry I said what I did. I wasn’t thinking. I just – I just forget sometimes, how things are now. . . “

Linda looked down at my bedspread, running a hand over the material. “Marty, we all know it’s been difficult for you, accepting Doc disappearing and all. Maybe . . . maybe you should talk to somebody about it.”

I stared. “What, like a shrink?” I could imagine the things a psychiatrist might get out of me. I’d end up talking about time travel and get committed. _Like the 1985A Doc._ I shuddered.

Dave shoved at Linda’s shoulder. “Linda! Give him a break. It’s only been a month. And the holidays are always rough.” He smiled at me with a kind of solidarity. “You’ll get through tomorrow – Linda and I will make sure none of the relatives bug you about Doc Brown. And if Doc’s not back by Christmas, we’ll help you get through that, too.” He looked expectantly at Linda. “ _Right_ , Lin?”

Linda sighed, nodding reluctantly. “All right. But,” she studied me again, “if you need to talk, about _anything_ , I’ll listen. Okay, Mar-Mar?”

I was momentarily speechless. The Linda from my old timeline had called me that, when she was feeling especially protective or worried about me. It was a callback to the nicknames I’d had for my siblings when I was a little kid, maybe pre-school age: Dave had been Davey, and Linda had been –

“Marty?” Linda pressed.

I blinked, and grinned at my big sister, who suddenly seemed a lot more recognizable.

“Okay, Lin-Lin.”

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I made a gratuitous reference to Eddie Van Halen in this piece. It just seemed appropriate; after all, Marty uses a guitar riff from Eddie to assail George's ears in the 1955 "Darth Vader from Planet Vulcan" scene (you can see the name "Edward Van Halen" on the tape in Marty's walkman). RIP, Eddie!


End file.
